‘Mr. Ryder in?’
‘In there.’ She pointed. ‘Go ahead. He isn’t busy.’
I put down my suitcase.
‘Okay for me to leave this here?’
‘I’ll watch it.’ She smiled.
I tapped on the door, opened it and entered a small office. Seated at a desk was a man who reminded me a little of Harry S. Truman. He would be around seventy-five years of age, balding with spectacles. He got to his feet with a wide, friendly smile.
‘Come on in,’ he said. ‘I’m Bert Ryder.’
‘Keith Devery.’
‘Take a pew. What can I do for you, Mr. Devery?’
I sat down and squeezed my hands between my knees.
‘I ran into Joe Pinner on the bus,’ I said. ‘He thought I could help you and you could help me. I understand you’re looking for a driving instructor, Mr. Ryder.’
He took out a pack of Camels, shook out two cigarettes, rolled one across the desk towards me and lit his, then he passed the lighter to me. While he was doing this, his grey eyes surveyed me quizzingly. That was okay by me. I was used to prospective employers surveying me. I looked straight back at him as I lit the cigarette.
‘Joe Pinner, huh?’ He nodded. ‘A great guy for thinking of others. Have you any experience as a driving instructor, Mr. Devery?’
‘No, but I am a good driver. I have a clean licence and I have a ton of patience. According to Mr. Pinner those are the only necessary qualifications.’
Ryder chuckled.
‘That’s about correct.’ He reached out a brown, heavily veined hand. ‘May I see your licence?’
I dug it out of my billfold and gave it to him.
He studied it for a few moments.
‘New York? You’re a long way from home.’
‘New York isn’t my home. I just happened to work there.’
‘I see you stopped driving for five years, Mr. Devery.’
‘That’s right. I couldn’t afford to run a car anymore.’
He nodded.
‘You’re thirty-eight: a fine age. I’d like to be thirty-eight again.’ He pushed the licence back to me. ‘What car did you drive, Mr. Devery?’
‘A Thunderbird.’
‘A nice car.’ He flicked ash into the glass ashtray. You know, Mr. Devery, I think you could be wasting your talents by taking this job. I like to imagine I’m a good judge of men. What have you been doing with yourself all these years if I may ask?’
‘Oh, this and that.’ I shrugged. ‘Call me footloose, Mr. Ryder. I was washing dishes the night before last. A week ago, I was cleaning cars.’
Again he nodded.
‘Would it be impertinent to ask why you received a five-year stretch?’
I stared at him, then shrugged. I pushed back my chair and stood up.
‘I’m sorry to have taken up your time, Mr. Ryder,’ I said. ‘I didn’t think it showed so plainly,’ and I started towards the door.
‘Don’t run away,’ Ryder said quietly. ‘It doesn’t show all that plainly but my son got out a couple of years ago and I remember how he looked when he came home. He went inside for eight years: armed robbery.’
I paused, my hand on the doorknob and stared at him. His face was impassive as he waved me back to the chair.
‘Sit down, Mr. Devery. I tried to help him, but he wouldn’t be helped. I believe in helping people who have tripped up, so long as they are frank with me.’
I returned to the chair and sat down.
‘What happened to your son, Mr. Ryder?’
‘He’s dead. He hadn’t been out more than three months before he tried to rob a bank. He killed the bank guard and the police killed him.’ Ryder frowned at his cigarette. ‘Well, that’s the way things can happen. I blame myself. I didn’t try hard enough. There are always two sides to a story. I didn’t listen hard enough to his.’
‘Maybe it wouldn’t have made any difference.’
‘Maybe...’ His smile was sad. ‘Do you want to tell me your story, Mr. Devery?’
‘Only on the condition that you don’t have to believe it.’
‘No one has to believe anything he’s told, but there is no harm in listening.’ He stubbed out his cigarette. ‘Would you do me a favour, Mr. Devery? Would you turn the key in the lock?’
Surprised, I got to my feet and locked the door. As I returned to my chair, I saw a bottle of Johnny Walker and two shot glasses had materialized.
‘Wouldn’t like Maisie to come in and find us men drinking,’ he said and winked. ‘I like kids to respect their elders.’
With loving care, he poured two shots, pushed one glass towards me and lifted the other.
‘Here’s to the young and innocent.’
We drank.
‘Now, Mr. Devery, you were going to tell me...’
‘I was what is called a broker’s front man,’ I said. ‘I worked for Barton Sharman, the second biggest brokerage house after Merrill Lynch. I was regarded as a whizz-kid. I was ambitious. I got drafted to Vietnam. They held my job open, but it wasn’t the same when I got back. In Vietnam I met ambitious guys and they taught me how to make a very fast buck in the black market. Making money for other people wasn’t fun anymore. I wanted to make money for myself. A very secret merger came up. I got a whisper of it. It was a chance of a lifetime. I used a client’s money. With my know-how, it was easy. I stood to make three quarters of a million. There was a last minute foul-up. The lid blew off and I drew five years. That’s it. No one got hurt except me. I asked for it and I got it. I’m only good with figures and no one is going to give me a job where there’s cash around so I take what I can find.’
He refilled our glasses.
‘Are you still ambitious, Mr. Devery?’
‘There’s no point in being ambitious if you can’t deal with figures,’ I said. ‘No... five years in a cell have taught me to lower my sights.’
‘Are your parents alive?’
‘Long dead... killed in an air crash before I went to Vietnam. I’m strictly on my own.’
‘Married?’
‘I was, but she didn’t want to wait five years.’
He finished his drink, then nodded.
‘You can have the job. It pays two hundred. It’s not much for someone like you who has been used to better things, but I don’t expect you to make a career of it. Let’s say it’s a marking time job to better things.’
‘Thanks what do I have to do?’
‘Teach people to drive. Mostly they are kids... nice kids, but every now and then we get middle-aged people... nice people. You work from nine to six. We are pretty booked up as Tom is in hospital. Tom Lucas... my instructor. He had bad luck... got an elderly woman who drove into a truck. She was all right, but Tom got concussion. You have to be alert, Mr. Devery. There are no dual controls, but you share the handbrake. Just keep your fingers on the handbrake and you’ll be fine.’
I finished my drink. He finished his, then put the bottle and the glasses back in his desk.
‘When do I start?’
‘Tomorrow morning. Talk to Maisie. She’ll tell you your appointments. Treat Maisie nice, Mr. Devery. She’s a real nice kid.’
He took out his billfold and put a hundred dollar bill on the desk.
‘Maybe you could use an advance. Then you want somewhere to live. Let me recommend Mrs. Hansen. I expect Joe Pinner told you this is a great little town for helping people. Mrs. Hansen has just lost her husband. She is a mite hard up. She owns a nice house on Seaview Avenue. She has decided to let a room. She’ll make you comfortable. She charges thirty a week and that includes breakfast and dinner. I’ve seen the room, it’s nice.’
It seemed ‘nice’ was the operative word in Wicksteed.
‘I’ll go along and see her.’ I paused, then went on, ‘And thank you for the job.’